Chapter 255: Upside-down Golden Bell
On Friday night, the full moon on the Magical Dome turned to a crescent.
Tonight is the Dueling Club’s first event of the new school year.
The students were full of anticipation, and the professors rarely made time to attend in full, Professor Flitwick had invited several professors for dueling demonstrations since taking over the Dueling Club, the most memorable being the one between Professor Levent and Professor Snape, which even featured forbidden Dark Magic.
Professor Flitwick invited them a few more times afterward, but Melvin couldn’t be bothered with the trouble and refused, citing the students’ desire to see something fresh in combat.
As most teachers and students expected, tonight’s special guest assistant teacher was the new Professor Remus Lupin, who had no reason to refuse; for a Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, this was a direct stage to showcase himself and win over the students with strength.
After a few days of interaction, he had also become familiar with several colleagues.
Dumbledore usually didn’t meddle much, so getting along with him had no barriers; the only thing to watch out for was not encouraging his terrible puns at meals, as they could ruin one’s appetite. Professor McGonagall was all about school affairs, so as long as one didn’t cause her trouble or harm students, applications for teaching aids and such could be negotiated.
Flitwick and Sprout were both seasoned veteran professors; one could consult them on teaching dilemmas, chat during free time—they were practically perfect colleagues.
The remaining elective professors—Astronomy’s Sinistra, Ancient Runes’ Babbling, Arithmancy’s Victor, Flying lesson’s Madam Hooch—weren’t particularly close, but they were acquaintances, and interactions were quite harmonious. Trelawney hadn’t been seen much; she usually hid away to drink.
Hagrid was an old friend of the Order of the Phoenix, still as warm-hearted as ever, just short on time at the start of term; perhaps later they could chat about Harry.
Muggle Studies class’s Melvin Levent was a peculiar young professor who knew many past secrets, had profound magical expertise, and researched Dark Magic, Boggarts, and Dementors extensively—discussing with him was highly enlightening, though he could be petty at times.
The first week of term was a very promising start.
There were also a few particularly difficult colleagues, like his current duelling practice opponent on the stage, Potions’ Severus Snape Professor, a former classmate from the same year, the Order of the Phoenix’s arch-rival, a self-proclaimed reformed Death Eater.
“Get ready…”
Whether it was the audience’s illusion or not, Professor Flitwick’s voice seemed to carry a hint of eager instigation.
“Professor Snape, I’d like to remind you again: we’re here to perform duelling practice for the students, not some life-or-death battle.”
Lupin said somewhat helplessly, looking at his opponent’s sullen expression.
Compared to his pale, gaunt, sickly state at the start of term, his complexion had improved a lot during his time at Hogwarts—no more going hungry or cold, no need to guard against neighbors, no more wandering about, and several nights of solid sleep.
“I don’t think so.”
Snape said unhurriedly, his tone icy cold. “The Dueling Club needs to make students recognize the brutality of combat. Wizard duels aren’t child’s play; the Dark Wizards and Dark Creatures after graduation won’t show them any mercy.”
Lupin sighed. “Alright, if you insist.”
“Begin!”
With Professor Flitwick’s shout, the battle erupted. Lupin countered vicious Poison Curses with various foundational spells; his only advantage was the heightened senses and reactions from lycanthropy—his casting speed and evasion techniques always shone in subtle ways.
It was like Muggle combat games with characters of different attributes: one with average offense and defense but good agility, the other mastering Dark Magic and various Hexes, with excellent duelling technique, but unable to leverage the advantage in the short term—the situation stalemated.
The audience below was exceptionally focused; George and Fred had even opened a betting pool.
Melvin was close with the students and had a prior clash record with Snape; the twins had consulted him on odds, and based on past experience—plus considering Lupin’s long-term wandering and recent recovery—Melvin still thought Snape had the higher win rate and placed a small bet of one Silver Sickle.
Many other students, hating Snape, bet on Lupin to win.
A Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor specialized in combat prowess; Lupin had shown his skills on the train at the start of term, easily repelling a Dementor, and demonstrated broad knowledge in this week’s class, reportedly having wandered many places before.
They believed such a Professor Lupin could surely embarrass Snape.
Differing fondness for the combatants led to imbalanced bets on both sides; George and Fred roughly calculated—though verbally supporting the Gryffindor alumnus Professor Lupin, the inwardly traitorous Lion House silently prayed for Snape to win, padding the joke shop’s startup funds.
The stalemate lasted ten minutes, and the situation gradually clarified.
Snape flicked his wand, unleashing two crisscrossing spells: one Tarantallegra, one Upside-Down Gold Bell—both embarrassing Hexes. Recalling student-era grudges with the Marauders during casting, malice overflowed, making the Hexes unusually swift; the two beams streaked one after the other, slamming toward Lupin.
Professor Flitwick’s shrill commentary echoed through the Great Hall:
“Oh! Tarantallegra! Professor Snape has a wicked sense of humor—everyone knows this spell makes the victim’s feet twitch uncontrollably in dance!
“Followed by the Hanging Curse—it suspends people upside down, like dangling by the ankles in mid-air, unable to move! An embarrassing Hex! It was hugely popular at Hogwarts for a time.”
“…”
Around fifth year, probably.
Flashes of scenes passed through Lupin’s mind, but he quickly refocused, forcibly altering his steps with his agile body to dodge the forward-blocking dance curse, meeting the trailing Hanging Curse head-on and swiftly firing a beam of white light.
A muffled bang resounded.
His body was pushed by the spell collision’s impact, instantly losing balance and staggering a few feet sideways; fortunately, the improved Repelling Charm learned from the Wiltshire old wizard had fast casting speed—he blocked the Hex in time, avoiding embarrassment and preserving some dignity for the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.
But the intense battle had exhausted his stamina; this frail body, after over a decade of wandering, was exceptionally weak—short-term stability wasn’t enough to restore it to normal.
An unnatural sickly flush appeared on Lupin’s face, his limbs growing heavy and sluggish; the wand he should have held level drooped slightly—anyone could see he was running out of strength.
Snape narrowed his eyes, expression unchanged, still as cold as the Black Lake; seizing his opponent’s breathing gap, he relentlessly fired off several more spells, incantation speed blisteringly fast—only Master Duelist Flitwick caught the exact spells.
Probably more embarrassing Hexes again.
Lupin’s body dodged again, but this time his steps were a bit slower, failing to evade the first incoming Hex; the spell beam sank into his body, and he felt shoved by immense force, waist and back bending as if flipping over; he closed his eyes as similar humiliating scenes from decades past surfaced in his mind.
“Look who’s here? Snivellus, you alright? Failed an exam and hiding to cry?”
“I watched him during the exam—his nose hit the parchment, probably left big grease stains; the professor couldn’t even read the answers!”
“Expelliarmus… hey, what’s this? Trying to hex us?”
“Petrificus Totalus… now what? Gonna rub snot on us?”
He still remembered the scene, in the shade of that beech tree by the lake: James coolly tossing the Golden Snitch, Sirius’s hair all messed up, their young handsome faces reflected on the water—these words from their mouths.
He had to admit, teenage boys in voice-change puberty spouting these in a teasing lilt were still cuttingly harsh in memory; but he hadn’t stopped them—he was one of James’s group, craving friendship, needing companions.
“Anyone want to see Snivellus’s underwear color? I bet black—don’t believe me? Upside-Down Gold Bell…”
“If you go out with me, I’ll let him go, Evans—date me, and I’ll never touch this snivelling git with my wand again.”
Stripped and dangled before all classmates, especially the girl he loved—Lupin could still clearly recall the agony on Snape’s face, like surrounding gazes turning to blades carving flesh, hatred spilling from wounds every second, heart-piercing, making one want to flee.
Back then he always dreamed of the Screaming Shed and Forbidden Forest paths, longing for the four of them to run on the Grounds under full moon, for this friendship to last forever; as for classmates hurt by Marauder pranks, it was like the pain of self-harm in transformation—completely ignored.
“Oh, Professor Lupin is hit—tonight’s winner is Professor Snape…” Professor Flitwick’s shrill commentary echoed.
Lupin staggered back a few steps, opened his eyes, and realized he wasn’t suspended upside down—just some lingering pain in his abdomen, no further humiliation.
“Not Upside-Down Gold Bell?” Lupin was stunned.
Snape looked at him disdainfully, those eyes just like in the Hogwarts dungeons—dim and murky; he said nothing, bowed in salute to end the duel, then walked off the stage along the carpet.
Professor Flitwick hurried forward, grabbed Lupin, and faced the students below:
“Professor Lupin just demonstrated many regional variant spells—choices wizards make to cope with different environments. As you saw, such spells can have unexpected effects in duels!”
“Professor…”
“How about Professor Lupin introduces us to a few useful spells?”
Deafening cheers immediately erupted in the Great Hall; Lupin had no time for reminiscing and was forced into teaching.
…
At the Great Hall Antechamber doorway, several professors leaned against the wall, watching the nearby stage; it was perfectly between two candlesticks, candlelight softly illuminating them.
“Severus went straight back to the dungeon; last time after duelling practice with Melvin, it was a draw but he still discussed it with us—won this time, yet no interest in chatting.”
Sprout sighed worriedly. “He asked me for a lot of strange Herbs—coptis, neem flowers—all bitterly inedible; hope he doesn’t brew Remus’s potion into Poison.”
“Severus knows his limits; didn’t he stop in time just now?”
White-bearded Dumbledore smiled; not yet nine o’clock, already in blue pajamas patterned with stars and moons, holding a cup of hot chocolate. “First week of term—how’s everyone feeling?”
“This year’s first-year students are much better behaved than the past two years, all very obedient; the other students have grown a lot too. Compared to the children, Headmaster, you might need to check on certain professors?” Babbling said.
“Hm?”
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall turned, puzzled.
The four Deans and core professors were busy and couldn’t track all professors in real-time; recent focus had been on Lupin and Hagrid—so the Headmaster and Deputy were surprised: what could happen with the other elective professors?
“Sibyll’s drinking has gotten worse; she’s often nowhere to be seen lately, skips the Great Hall during breaks, Divination classes end early—rumor is the North Tower classroom’s burning spices can’t mask the alcohol smell.”
“Why?” Professor McGonagall frowned.
Onlookers Sinistra, Victor, and others laughed, simultaneously glancing at the person directly under the candlestick: the Muggle Studies class professor.
Melvin gave a gentle smile, his young handsome face full of innocence.
“Because of that lesson dissecting prophecy principles? Prophecies tend to self-fulfill; professors’ expectations guide students, and bad things are hard to avoid.” Dumbledore’s voice. “Interesting theory. Sibyll may misunderstand Melvin; I’ll chat with her when I have time.”
“I specially clarified at the end of that class: Professor Trelawney’s Divination has much worth learning; she’s one of the few true Seers. Maybe students didn’t hear that part, and only the prior theory reached Professor Trelawney.” Melvin was helpless too.
The elective professors found it amusing; after all these years, they had no prejudice against Trelawney—this Divination professor, aside from drinking and occasional mysticism, was actually decent when sober.
Professor McGonagall’s lips pressed into a thin line, silent.
Dumbledore shook his head with a smile, letting the matter drop. “Muggles always have novel theories; heard you and Remus are researching Boggarts lately—any new findings?”
“More precisely, research on wizard emotions, magic power, and memory. Remember discussing the Lumbardons’ condition before summer vacation? Got some insights from Dementors, audited Professor Lupin’s Boggart class, and follow-up talks yielded valuable content—now refining a treatment Plan.”
Dumbledore’s expression turned serious.
